Siblings Of Contigo
by sagewolf
Summary: Ivan growing up in Kalay and Hama living in Lama temple. Maybe a few chapters about Hammet, too, I don't know yet. No promises that this is in any way planned. ...I'm no good at summaries... Ch 5 up!
1. Prologue: Farewell

Ivan: How nice. Your first fic is about me. What do I do? Something noble and heroic?

Uhhh...yeah, sure. Why not. Read and see, blond one.

For the purposes of this story, I'm assuming Hama's between 14 and 15 years older than Ivan. I haven't really decided yet and it doesn't seem terribly important.

I do not own Golden Sun or any characters or places associated with it.

Trust me, this is an accurate representation of baby behaviour. As far as my sister goes, anyway.

* * *

Nikita looked up slightly. Her husband, Dirk, noticed and stood, gripping his sword. 

"Is he here?" he asked her, his voice quiet. She nodded sadly.

"Yes. He is south of the village, or will be. We must hurry." She too stood, cradling the small baby in her arms silently for a moment before giving him to his sister. He moaned quietly before settling down in her lap and sleeping again.

"Is this the man--" she began, then stopped as her mother nodded silently.

"Yes, Hama. Watch Ivan while we're gone. You know where food is if he is hungry." The girl nodded and Nikita turned to go, holding her staff.

"Sleep, that's all you do," the girl murmured to him as her parents left the small building. "I wish you'd stay awake." She sighed. "After all, we haven't got much time left together." She tickled the boy under his chin. He stirred in his sleep, found her finger and latched onto it with his mouth, suddenly wide awake. Hama smiled, then yelped; her brother had a (previously undiscovered) tooth coming in. She grimaced; he smiled, liking the face. She continued making faces for him, since he never seemed to tire of them, until he began to wail. She changed him, fed him, changed his mashed-vegetable-covered clothes and played with him again, throwing him up in the air and flying him around the room. He threw up on her. She changed her clothes while he rolled around on the floor. When she returned, he'd found her diary and was cheerfully chewing on the corner. He grinned at her, and Hama saw the tooth he'd bitten her with earlier, a tiny sliver of ivory against his gums. She sighed and picked him up.

"I suppose you're proud of yourself," she told him as she wrestled the book off of him. For a seven-month old, he was shockingly strong. He laughed delightedly as Hama spun around, pulling in two directions at once while trying not to drop him. "Ivan! Let go...please...no, no more biting the book..." Finally, she slumped in a chair, having given up. He could have the stupid book. However, now that he could have it, he didn't want it. He dropped it on the ground. Hama let him sit, wobbling, on her lap as she rested her head on the back of the chair.

She felt a tug at her collar and looked down. Ivan was staring at her solemnly, violet eyes wide and curious. He held her collar tightly in both hands as he looked her over, then, suddenly, he lunged forward and latched his arms around her neck. She picked him up off her lap and held him closer to her chest, wrapping one arm around his tiny body, the other supporting his weight. She felt tears sting the backs of her eyes and blinked them back. It was so odd...as if he knew he was about to leave. But he couldn't. He couldn't possibly know.

Later, he ate again and went back to sleep. Hama washed dishes until the door opened and her parents walked back in. She greeted them with a small smile as another man walked in behind them. He was brown-haired and shorter than both her parents, in his early twenties, sunburned, slightly nervous and somewhat portly. He held the Shaman's Rod in his hand. They were introduced, she as "our daughter, Hama"; he was Hammet, a travelling merchant from Angara. Nikita caught Hama's eye and nodded as she picked a leather coin-purse off the table. Hama felt her heart sink.

She went into the small room where her brother slept in his crib. Hanging a leather satchel on her shoulder from its strap, she picked him up, rocking him gently to stop him from crying as he woke up. (It didn't work.) She held him up at her eye level and shook him gently to gain his attention. (It didn't work.) She tried everything she could think of to get him to stop crying. (It didn't work.) She checked his pants, slipped her finger into his mouth, made sure he wasn't cold or hot and his clothes weren't chafing him.

There was no reason she could see that he would be crying, but he was. He was getting louder by the second. Hama tried reading his mind; it had worked before.

He did not want to leave. Hama stared at her brother in amazement. How could he have known? It was practically impossible…unless he'd heard them talking about it. They hadn't spoken of his leaving for months, though. They'd treated it as an unavoidable eventuality.

She called his name. He looked up, fixing her with his wide-eyed gaze. Slightly hesitant, she asked, "How do you know you're going to leave? Are you sure it's not a dream?" She read his mind again, thinking, if I get an answer to my question, I will be a lot more careful about how I speak to babies.

It was not a dream; he'd had a different dream about purple birds. There was a strange man in the next room; Ivan could hear his voice and it was not his father's voice. The strange man was talking to his father and his mother.

"What does that have to do with you leaving?"

Hama intended to give him to the strange man. The bag contained things the man would need to take care of him. But Ivan did not want the man to take care of him, he wanted mother and father and Hama to do it. Hama was extremely impressed. How did he know what was in the bag? Did he understand what their parents were saying in the next room? He had very good ears for a tiny baby.

He did not understand them. He did not understand when people spoke, apart from words like 'mama.' (Or 'papa', or 'Hama'. Or, indeed, 'Ivan'.) He heard those constantly and they were his people. But he did not understand words, generally.

Hama blinked. His last response had come before she'd asked the question. …Out loud.

How do you know what I want to know?

He could tell what her question by…by seeing it. She could think of no other way to describe his perception of Mind Read. But that was what it was. He saw speech- vocalisation- as a way of gaining attention, not a mode of communication in itself. If someone called his name, he read their thoughts to discover what they wanted from him. She hoped Ivan would not expect similar treatment from Hammet.

He was NOT going with That Man. (Hammet had gone from 'the strange man' to 'That Man', with a negative undertone to the thought.)

Hama sighed. This is your fate. You don't get a say in the matter.

She could watch him have it anyway. He always got a say.

He'd had his say in spectacular fashion. Screaming, kicking, wailing, waving his fists and arms, staring at his parents, throwing his body towards the floor as they tried to hand him over and twisting his spine and neck in ways that would make the most flexible of cats stare in amazement, he had thwarted every attempt by his family to give him to Hammet.

However, he had been unable to stop them from forcing him to leave with Hammet. His sister, his satchel over her shoulder, carried him from Contigo to the Attekan port, trying to stop him from crying the whole way. She didn't quite succeed, although three hours into the journey, he began to rub his eyes. Knowing his sister's plan, he fended off sleep for as long as he could, but gave in an hour after he'd begun rubbing. They were halfway to the port. She gave him to Hammet, biting the inside of her lip. She did not want to do this to him; it felt like a betrayal. Hammet took the boy awkwardly, not entirely sure how to hold him.

"Do you remember everything we told you?" she asked. He nodded.

"Yes. Three years after the storm that strikes only Mt…"

"Aleph," she prompted, exasperated. She hadn't planned on him repeating it.

"Aleph, yes. Three years after the storm, Ivan," he glanced at the baby in his arms, "will leave on a journey with warriors from Vale, the village that sleeps in its shadow." Hama nodded and waited. "Also, I am to give him the Shaman's Rod when that happens, and tell him to use it to find an object which will aid him in his mission." Hama nodded again. "May I know what that mission is, exactly?" Hama shook her head.

"No. I am sorry." He seemed confused.

"Why not?"

"It is related to the third thing that we told you." This was actually a lie. Hama didn't want to admit her parents hadn't actually told her. She wanted to admit she thought it was because they didn't know _either _even less. He raised his eyebrows.

"That he will develop strange powers, like your parents'?" Hama nodded.

"Yes, and the power is called Psynergy. He is an Adept. This was explained to you," she added, slightly perturbed.

"It was a lot to take in. Besides, you told me he will b-is," he quickly amended under Hama's glare, "a 'Jupiter Adept.' That doesn't tell me much."

"True…" Hama conceded. "I suppose you wish to know exactly what he will be capable of."

Hammet nodded. "It would help me greatly, yes."

Hama thought for a moment. "A Jupiter Adept can… see things which are invisible to other people, sense and predict the future, control wind and lightning-"

"Lightning?!" Hammet did not seem very pleased.

"Yes, lightning. Jupiter is one of the four elements, the element of wind, or sky. Lightning is included."

Hammet moaned. Hama ignored him and continued. "Control wind and lightning, affect the Psynergy of others, although that hardly affects you, and read minds."

"Read minds. It's possible to read someone's mind?" Hammet was staring at her oddly.

"Yes," she replied, "although that is not an entirely accurate way to describe it." He stared at her, suddenly wary. She frowned.

"You think I am mad," she accused him. Hammet shook his head.

"No. I believe you. But..."

"But what?" Hama was now sick of talking to him. Then it hit her. "Oh... Do you think we have been reading your mind?" Hammet, after a short, hesitant pause, nodded slowly. She considered her words carefully. "I have not read your mind, but..."

"Your parents did?" Hama nodded, a sick feeling growing in her stomach.

"They wanted to know the best way to persuade you to agree to aid us." She grimaced. "I am sorry. We should not have violated your privacy so, especially without telling you we were capable of it." Hammet watched her, then shook his head.

"Don't apologise for something you didn't do. Their actions are not your fault." He looked at the baby in his arms. "Will I be able to tell when he is using his powers?" Hama shook her head.

"Not unless they have some physical, visible effect. You won't be able to tell if he's reading someone's mind, but if he creates a whirlwind, you'll know, because you'll see it. You will see the effects of his power but not the power itself. Understand?" Hammet nodded.

"So, to non-...Adepts? This power is invisible?" Hama nodded, then frowned.

"How did we end up speaking of this?"

"I wanted to know what his mission will be, and you said I couldn't know." He had a good memory! She certainly couldn't have recalled it that quickly. She nodded.

"Yes...because he'll have the ability to read your mind. He can't know about this." Hammet frowned.

"He's not going to know he's leaving on a journey? Won't that make it hard to get him to leave with these warriors from Vale?" Hama frowned; they hadn't considered that.

"Possibly. I do not know if he will require persuasion in the matter. ...To be honest, we did not think of that dilemma. We were more concerned about getting you to take him."

As if he sensed them talking about him, Ivan stirred in Hammet's arms. Both of them watched him nervously until he settled down again. Hama gave Hammet the bag containing Ivan's things. They'd spoken too long, and she told him so. She bit back a sudden urge to continue speaking. She'd nearly woken her brother already.

...Maybe she'd wanted to. If he woke up, he'd cry; she would take him back and walk to the port with Hammet. She'd get some extra time with him. After all, she didn't know when they'd see each other again...

Hammet nodded to show he understood, and raised one hand in a silent wave as he turned and continued down the path, her brother in his arms. Hama stood where she was, watching him go until he was out of sight, then watching the spot where she'd last seen him. Eventually, she turned her back on the narrow road, fighting the lump in her throat. She felt wetness on her face and wiped it away sharply.

He had to leave. Even if it wasn't his choice...or hers. It wasn't a betrayal, not really, not if it was his fate to leave... and it was. They were sure of that. It was fate.

He didn't get a say in it, no matter what he thought...and neither did she.

* * *

Alright, chapter 1 done. I'll write chapter 2 when I figure out what happens in it (told you it wasn't planned.) Whadaya think? Please review!

Ivan: You lied. That was not heroic. That was humiliating.

Elliott: She does that quite a lot.


	2. 1:Leaving Home

Chapter 2 up! It might be a little short. It might not. I've planned some of this now, but I don't know how long on average the chapters will be.

Elliott: She's new to this 'planning' thing.

Review response: Flowers of Moss: Thanks for he review (my first!) and putting this in your favorite stories. Because of that, I'll assume it's a positive 'interesting.' Here's more!

Disclaimer: I do not own Golden Sun. Camelot does. And not the freaky one from Monty Python, either. The one in Japan.

* * *

Hama knelt beside the stone marker and placed a handful of violets at its base. 

"Hello, Mother," she said quietly. Even after six months, the pain of losing her was sharp. She swallowed, glanced again at the bag beside her. She hated to leave her mother's grave. She was the only one who really tended it. Still, Anna and Viktor had promised to take care of it for her. She was leaving the village, after six months on her own. Two years after her brother, a year and a half after her father, she was walking out of the town gates.

Her father had left to find work so he could earn money and buy medicine for her mother, who'd fallen ill soon after Ivan had left. He had done so, and well, finding work as a guard in a city called Alhafra. He'd brought the medicine back himself, and her mother had gotten better. They'd spent the few days he'd stayed with them laughing at his stories of the outside world, and especially as he made fun of the mayor he worked for and the other guards who, judging from his descriptions of their characters, certainly did _not_ have children or wives. Alhafra was an odd town, apparently, and the letters he'd sent back had always made her laugh.

But the last letter she'd gotten from Alhafra had not been funny at all. Nor had it been from her father. Seven months ago, pirates had attacked the harbor in Alhafra. The Alhafran Mayor had deeply regretted to inform them (Hama doubted that strongly) that her father had been among the casualties. He had been knocked overboard his ship and lost to the ocean. His remains, after they'd washed up on the beach, had been interred with honor. Just another paper to sign on his desk, she'd thought bitterly, before her mother had woken up and asked to see the letter. They hadn't told anyone else in the village, but they had probably guessed why no more letters came.

Her mother had been sick for too long, and had lost too much. A month later, Hama had been alone. She couldn't take it anymore. She was leaving town. To be near, if not with, the only family she had left.

She said her last goodbye in the village, then picked up her bag and left.

* * *

Travelling was harder than she thought. It took her a full six months to make it to Indra. All her clothes were muddy, she was exhausted, hungry, permanently wet, and to top it all off, she was broke. How on Weyard was she going to make it to Angara?

A growling noise began behind her. Oh hell. Ignore it, and it won't bother you. That was the strategy for wolves, right? Or…was it the strategy for bears? Bees? She looked behind her. A large, black-and-brown bear stood behind her. On its hind legs. It was huge. Huge.

Most 16-year-olds in Contigo didn't know any words stronger than 'heck' or maybe 'crap.' They led a very sheltered life. But as Hama's father had been a soldier, she was a little better informed. She turned to run, whispering to herself.

"Oh, son of a—"

* * *

She woke up in a stone building. It was a building because it certainly wasn't a house, unless the mother of all masochists lived here. It was four stone walls and two big doors. And a very high ceiling. That was it. She hoped something nice was behind those doors. Like food. Or a bath.

She tried to sit up and found she couldn't. Pain erupted in her abdomen and she moaned. She heard footsteps and tried to see who it was. A monk appeared, in orange robes, and knelt beside her.

"Ah, you are awake. What is your name, young lady?"

"Hama. I have been travelling for a long time. I am from Contigo," she told the young monk. It was odd, but she felt better here, knowing it was a temple.

"Hama of Contigo, hmm? Very well. You are in our hall, as we do not have a proper infirmary. It was knocked down in a storm. You are welcome here for as long as it takes for you to recuperate, but once you are better, our Master Poi would like to speak with you." Hama nodded.

"I understand. What happened to me?"

"You were attacked by wild animals near the town of Daila. The villagers brought you here, so you might avail of our healing arts." Hama blushed.?

"Thank you," she told him. "But I don't have any money…"

He shook his head reassuringly. "We charge nothing for our services. We live to serve, and spread wisdom and goodwill. You should rest, Miss Hama. We will care for you." Hama nodded, cast Sleep on herself, and drifted off.

* * *

Two weeks later, Hama was healed and refreshed. Being dry, fed and clean was a welcome change in her routine, but she had to get to Angara. She prepared to leave, and just before setting off, went to speak with the Master Poi, as she had been asked. She raised her hand to knock for admittance to his chambers.

"Enter, Hama of Contigo," an elderly-sounding voice ordered before she could strike the wood. She blinked once, got over it, and stepped forward, into his chambers. The old man got up from the floor, where he had been sitting. "Miss Hama," he greeted her, bowing slightly. Hama was unsure how to respond.

"Thank you, Master Poi," she replied, hesitant, "for the care I have been shown." She made an awkward attempt at bowing. Poi waved at her not to.

"No, it is fine," he told her. "It is part of our calling, to help those in need. I might ask what you are doing here though, Hama. Contigo is on the island continent of Atteka. Very far from Indra."

"I am…looking for someone," she told him, hoping to get away with that.

"Looking? For whom? Few people come to Daila. You are not looking here, are you? Who is this person you seek, and where do you think he is?" Hama nearly jumped at the word 'he.' It was just an assumption, anyone would say that, 'he' instead of 'she.' Yet, for some reason, she felt that Poi had a better reason to have used the male pronoun specifically. Looking at him, Hama felt almost as if she was speaking to her parents again. She wondered if he needed to be answered to know.

She finally managed to speak. "He is…in Angara, somewhere. I am going to Angara to find him." The old man nodded and produced a roll of parchment.

"The town you seek," he told her, "is called Kalay, ruled, and founded about two years ago, by one Hammett. I believe you should find your brother there." Hama was staring at him, aghast. This was creepy. The old man had not used Psynergy. She was sure of it.

She stammered out, "H…how do you know that?" The old man smiled.

"Your coming was foretold in our oldest scrolls. How did it go…now…yes. 'Shall come a child of the wind from the continent in the southern sea. Guide her to the fledgling town of Angara, there to meet her kin, young as the place in which he lives.'" He paused. "He is your brother, right? Not your cousin or…" he looked her over doubtfully, "your son?" Hama wrinkled her nose involuntarily and Poi laughed.

"He is my brother. Ivan." Son! she scoffed inwardly. A two-year-old at her age! What a load of—

Poi interrupted her thoughts. "You do know what will happen if you interrupt his fate?" Hama sighed. Yes. She knew. He could have no ties to his home if he were to succeed in his mission. Which meant that if she were to go to Angara, she would have to either watch him from a distance and never let him meet her, or try to keep a secret from a child who could read minds. The former method sounded easier.

"Yes," she told him. "I won't allow that to happen." Poi nodded, satisfied. Still, she thought, as he handed her the map, she would do anything, _anything_, to stay by her brother's side. Deceive him for the next decade or more, face monsters, shoulder the fate of the world. _Anything, _to stay by him and keep him safe.

Her hand closed over the parchment scroll, but Poi did not let go. He caught her gaze and held it, his eyes piercing and clear.

"You have the courage to stand beside him, Hama. That I do not doubt. But do you have the courage to let him stand alone?" the temple's master told her quietly. Hama took the map, thanked Poi for his help, and left the temple as quickly as she could, his words haunting her with every step.

* * *

Alright. I'll try to get ch 3 up soon. Hope you liked that. It was a little subdued for me. Next chapter should be more me.

Elliott: You mean insane?

Ivan: When do you get to _me?_ Without having me puke?

Next chapter and don't think you're done puking. XP

Ivan: Yippee.

Read and review!


	3. 2:Voices

Alright! Here's chapter three!

Ivan: Are you finally getting to me here?

Yes. Here you are in all your four-year-old glory.

Ivan: Oh.

Disclaimer: I disclaim Golden Sun. And this is the last time I'm doing this for this story. I hereby disclaim for the rest of the fic.

* * *

Ivan walked through the square, avoiding the many pairs of legs that were there for the same purpose. Being small wasn't fun, not really. Sure, people didn't notice you so you could sneak into Places You Shouldn't Be In, but it was a pain sometimes, too. Like now. He hoped he wouldn't be small forever. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be. Papa kept speaking about 'when he was small,' so Ivan supposed it was a passing condition. Papa knew lots of stuff.

Papa, however, did not know he was out here; this was a Place He Shouldn't Be In. Ivan wanted to keep it that way. The wind tugged at his clothes, and Ivan wrapped his arms around his body to shield himself. The wind was chilly. He didn't like it.

A man walked past, rubbing his head. (Or poking at his eyes. From this angle it was hard to tell. That seemed like a weird thing to walk around doing, though.) He wanted to find the palace; he wanted to talk to Hammet. Ivan tugged at his trouser leg and pointed north.

"Hammet is that way," he told the man. The man jumped back, startling Ivan, before he shook his head and ran off. Northwards, Ivan was pleased to note. That man had an odd voice, though. It hit his ears funny. Almost as if the man was talking in his head. Ivan shrugged and kept exploring.

What an odd man.

* * *

It kept happening over and over and over. Someone wanted to find the blacksmith, or the weapon shop, or the stable, or the town gates, and Ivan told them where they were. Then they jumped about a foot in the air, or looked at him with very wide eyes and ran off. People were very strange. If everyone was like this, Ivan could see advantages to staying in the palace all the time. Was it that odd for a four-year-old to offer directions? Maybe he was a _genius_ four-year-old. That would explain it.

A woman walked by. She was looking for an item shop to find some metal polish. Ivan tugged on her dress.

"The item shop's that way, but the armor shop has polish—" he stopped as the woman stooped down to face him.

_How did this boy know what I was thinking?_ The voice came into his head suddenly, almost a shock. He stepped backwards quickly. Not seeing his discomfort, the woman patted him on the head, thanked him, and set off for the armour shop. Shaking his head—he couldn't have actually heard what she was _thinking_, could he?—he ran off for the palace, wanting to speak with Papa. This needed explaining.

* * *

Papa wasn't there. Papa was in a meeting with someone. On second thought, it probably wasn't a good idea to let Papa know about this, anyway. He didn't know what he'd done, but he also didn't know if he'd done it at all.

There was only one thing for it. He had to test this new skill. He made his way to the kitchens. "Hi, Miss Maeve," he greeted the head cook. She turned, startled, to face him. Maeve was in charge of watching him when Papa and Mama couldn't.

"Ivan! Where were you?" she yelled, sweeping him up to look him in the eye. "I was worried! …You're all dusty. Where have you been?" Ivan took advantage of her tirade to try to find out what she was thinking. He searched in his mind for the feeling he'd had when he'd heard the other people's thoughts. He didn't find it, though, and Maeve put him back down, remarking that he was outgrowing his clothes. He caught an idea from her that it was about time, too, but then she moved away. He sighed.

This would take more time than he'd thought. No matter. He'd keep trying.

And that was what he did. Every time he saw someone, he tried to use his new ability on them. This continued for a month, by which time he was fairly confident of his ability to read minds whenever he tried. He didn't do it too often, though. It made his head hurt. Over that time, he made several interesting discoveries.

First, whenever he read people's minds on purpose, he began to glow. He began to glow bright purple. The light licked at his body like a fire, except it wasn't hot. (He had found himself, recently, beginning to develop an irrational liking for that colour.)

Second, other people could not see this glow. No matter how he tested them, in the dark, right in front of them, they never saw it. He had concluded that they were crazy and, because of their insanity, they could not see him glowing. Alright, he didn't know. What explanation was there that made sense? For that or the fact that he could read minds?

Third, having a small boy stare at them for prolonged periods of time creeped people out. He tried to do other things while he read their minds, but really, now, when he was concentrating that hard on something, it was hard to think of anything else, let alone _do _it. So he read their minds anyway and let them be creeped out. It really was kinda weird that something they didn't even know was happening was creeping them out.

It didn't take long for the idea that 'Ivan is getting creepy' to reach Papa, though. He came to speak to Ivan one day. While he was going on about Ivan doing something-or-other and about how he needed to give people space, whatever that meant, Ivan decided to find out what he thought of what Ivan was doing.

_I knew this would happen eventually…How did I get myself into this mess? I can't handle this. Why couldn't those two take care of their own son? They could have handled this, but the gods know it's beyond me. How am I supposed to take care of a boy that reads minds when I don't even know if he's doing it?_

Ivan stopped reading his mind abruptly. Papa must have seen something on his face, because he stopped and asked Ivan if anything was wrong. Ivan shook his head and after a while Papa left.

Ivan went to his room and sat down on the bed. He thought about it for a long time. (One hour.) He thought about it one way, and two ways, and three ways. He thought about it from every angle he could find. But, no matter what, he kept coming to the same two conclusions.

One: Papa knew about his new skill; indeed, Papa had known about it before he had. Papa had been expecting it. He'd been told about it by… people who'd had him before. Which brought him to the second conclusion…

His Papa…wasn't his Papa.

* * *

For the next few weeks, Ivan moped. At first, nobody seemed to notice. He was a quiet boy anyway; no-one expected him to be constantly underfoot. But after a week of his moping, Maeve came into his room and asked him if everything was alright. No, he told her, no and I wanna be alone.

"Oh, come on, dear. It's a beautiful day. Why don't you play outside?"

He did not want to play outside. Playing outside had started this mess. He told Maeve so. She was unfazed.

"Oh, come on, dear, why don't you go down to the riding yard? Your father—"

"Hammet," he interrupted, burying his face farther in the pillow. Maeve seemed surprised, but she recovered quickly enough.

"No, dear, you don't call your father by his name. You call him Daddy, or Papa, or—"

"Hammet."

Maeve seemed truly confused now. She was silent for a moment, and Ivan decided to see what she thought of what he was saying.

There is no way he could know…no way at all…unless he heard someone talking about it… I hope Lord Hammet knew what he was doing when he took this boy in. 

She stayed for a little while longer, but Ivan didn't listen to anything she said. He stayed in his bed for the rest of the day and thought. It was true, then, wasn't it? If he'd heard it from two different people, then it had to be true. They wouldn't both be wrong…and Maeve didn't know he could read minds.

Ivan buried his head under his pillow and began crying.

Later that day, in the evening, Hammet came to see him. He wanted to talk to Ivan. Ivan did not particularly want to talk to him.

"Ivan," he called softly, coming into the room. "Ivan, are you here?" Ivan burrowed farther into the covers on his bed. Hammet saw it.

"Ivan," he said again, sitting down on the bed, "is something wrong?" Ivan shook his head. He heard Hammet sigh. "Ivan, if nothing were wrong, you wouldn't be doing this. What is it?" Ivan hesitated, and eventually spoke up.

"You're not…you're not my papa," he said, hoping Hammet would tell him he was wrong, comfort him, at the same time, hoping he wouldn't bother, would just tell him the truth.

Hammet sighed. Slowly, he spoke, as if considering his words while he said them. "No. Where did you hear this?" Ivan looked at him for a moment, deciding whether or not to say.

"You," he said. "I heard it from you. You…were thinking that…the people you got me from could do a better job of raising me than you…" Hammet nodded and frowned.

"Hmmm. That's where you heard it, huh?" Hammet scratched his chin. "Ivan…how long have you been able to read minds?" Ivan looked up.

"A week. How do you know what I can do? Can you do it too?" Hammet shook his head.

"No, I can't. And I can't tell when you're doing it, either. Which means, Ivan, that I will have to watch when I am around you, watch what I think. It's difficult to do that, so I don't think I will be able to spend as much time with you in the future." He paused and glanced at the boy. Ivan looked up.

"I won't read your mind again," Ivan offered. Hammet shook his head.

"You already did once. How can I know you won't do it again?"

Ivan hesitated, trying to come up with a good answer. "Because…Because I…I said I won't! I promise!" Hammet nodded, mock-serious.

"Ah, you're asking me to trust you. What proof do I have that I can trust you?" Ivan looked down.

"Ummm…I don't know. I only did it that one time," he said, lamely. "And I really do promise! Cross my heart! And besides, you've been lying to me all this time, and I never lied to you."

Hammet raised one of his eyebrows. Ivan hoped that meant he agreed with him. "I suppose you're right, although I'm taking your word for it on the 'no lying' claim. …I suppose I can give you another chance. But, you have to promise not to read my mind, or Layana's, again. Alright?" Ivan thought, as serious as any trader, and nodded.

"Yep. Promise." He thought a moment, and held out his right hand, balled into a fist with the smallest finger sticking out. "Pinky swear."

Hammet seemed surprised; Ivan did not know why. A pinky swear was the most binding promise in the world. Hammet had to know that. Everyone knew that. Surely he didn't expect to get out of the room without one. Hammet sighed and linked his finger with the boy's. Ivan took his away, satisfied.

Hammet sighed. "This means I'm trusting you now," he told the boy. "And if you ever give me a reason not to, I won't anymore. It's that simple. When someone trusts you, it means they have faith in you, that they know, deep down, that you won't let them down. And if you betray that trust, then you can hurt that person. You might lose their trust, or even their friendship. Understand?" Ivan considered the sentence, and nodded. He understood. This was important, and he had to understand.

Hammet watched him thoughtfully and went on. "Also…I want you to keep it a secret that you can do this. Because you see, nobody else can. The other children might be jealous, or…scared, and I don't want to see you getting hurt over this, alright?" Ivan nodded, thinking that it wouldn't be much of a problem when they couldn't even see it. Hammet kept going. "And, also, Ivan…people just naturally dislike things they don't understand, so…" Ivan looked at him, now confused.

"Why? Aren't they ever curious?"

Hammet began to falter. "Well, things they don't understand, they can't predict, and that scares them…" Ivan shook his head. He didn't understand one bit. Hammet shook his head back, as if mimicking him, and ruffled his hair.

"We'll talk about it later, when you're a little older." Ivan had a gut feeling that that talk would be long forgotten by that time. He supposed he'd have to learn it on his own. Hammet drummed his fingers on his leg—a nervous habit—and made a face.

"I don't suppose you'd approve of continuing to call me your father in public?" Ivan shook his head. He didn't want to keep poking at that hurt. Hammet nodded. "Then I'll have to come up for a reason for you to be here, or there will be rumors… Would you disapprove of being called my _foster_ son?"

Ivan nodded vehemently. He did not know what the word foster meant, but he understood the word son. Honestly, he just answered this question!

Hammet sighed. "Alright…would…would being a servant in the palace please you? As an excuse, I mean?" Ivan thought it over, and nodded. He would not mind that. The palace servants were a very happy, carefree bunch of people. He would not mind having a job that made those people so happy. Hammet ran a hand through his hair. From his expression, Ivan could have sworn Hammet was confused by him. That was odd.

"Alright…when you're old enough, you can be my servant. …Goodnight, Ivan." Ivan watched him leave the room, feeling a little better. He had the feeling that he'd just done something very important, and it made him feel very proud of himself. Like a grown-up.

He went over to the window and looked outside. It was springtime, and the air smelled fresh and sweet. As he looked outside, he felt the breeze come in, tugging at his clothes and hair. He laughed softly. For some reason, the wind didn't seem chilly, or like an annoyance, anymore. It felt…nice. Almost like a friend.

He wondered why.

* * *

Ivan:...What was with the 'small' comment?

...Well, you _are_ short. Admit it. Don't throw an Edward Elric-type spaz on me either, I'm not doing parody in this fic. Definitely not in the author's notes.

Ivan: -sighs-...alright...R&R!


	4. 3:Of Ki, Chi, birthdays and monks

OMG I did something very bad last chapter! o.o

Ivan: -.-+ Made it suck?

Well…yeah…that too…but worse than that! I forgot to reply to my awesome reviewers!

Elliott: Reviewer.

Whatever. Reviewers are half the reason I'm writing this story! I need to acknowledge them!

Elliott: What's the other half?

…Getting out of housework by letting mom think I'm working on my novel and original-idea-stories. Like the one about you! …Or the plan, for NaNo… heheh...

Elliott: -slaps forehead-

**Review Responses:**

**Zashlight: **Thank you! Sorry I forgot to reply! It was 2 am(here. That's 9 pm EST. I'm on GMT.) and I wasn't thinking clearly. (Elliott faints in background. Wonder why.) I was planning on more Ivan…but he'll have his moment in the parts during the actual game events, I suppose. So…

MORE HAMA! There aren't really many fics about her, are there? It ­­_is_ fun to explore her character and motives. And she's more fun to write than Ivan at this point, too! o Possibly because she's older and I can give her an attitude. Hard to do with a four-year-old. And it is challenging to get her to the point where she is in the games, show how she got to be in that position and everything she's done and learned. I like challenges.

Both Siblings: (in monotone) Yay.

BE ENTHUSIASTIC!!

Both Siblings: YAYYIPPEEHOWWONDERFUL!!

Better.

Ivan: Can we get on with this? Now that the A/N are practically longer then the chapter?

Yes. Back to the Wonderful Adventures of a Displaced Adolescent Jupiter Adept™

Ivan/Hama/Elliott­­: ¬.¬;

* * *

Hama yawned. The day had been long. Tiring also. She did not mind, though. This school was a good one. She learned a lot from Feh. He was a good teacher. He… 

Hama caught her own train of thought. Jupiter! She was beginning to _think_ like those people! Did she ever speak in that odd way without noticing it? …Probably. She got up off the padded mattress the Xianese called a bed. Wincing slightly at the (perpetual) ache in her muscles, she made herself a cup of tea. Tea was this town's greatest asset, she sometimes thought.

A knock sounded at her door. Hama looked at it, curious, but still wary. The other week, a travelling mercenary had thought she'd appreciate some male company. And, unfortunately, the ones who offered such company were also the ones she didn't want near her. …Because they offered such company. Disgusting, pretentious sons of rats and jackals, the lot of them. She focused her mind and sought out the knocker's name.

She relaxed. Feh. She got up and opened the door. "Feh!" she greeted him, feigning surprise. "Come in! I mean, feel free any time, it's your father's house…" Feh chuckled and shook his head.

"You need not jump at every thing, Hama. You seem always nervous." His words were kind, as were his eyes. Feh was the Master Goran's best, most attentive pupil. Some of the other students, like Hama, learned from him; officially in the school, he was one of the teachers. He still took lessons from Goran, though. He enjoyed pushing himself, Hama thought. A native of Xian, he had a lean, almost stringy body (surprisingly strong), deep-set, dark eyes and the distinctive Xianese accent. He was older than Hama, with a daughter about four years old; the same age as Ivan. He seemed to enjoy Hama's company, though. "You should meditate with me. It is very relaxing." Hama shook her head.

"I prefer to do it in the mornings, Feh. It gets me ready for the day," she said. He nodded, sitting down on the floor.

"You use it to focus. I meditate to relax. Teaching and learning is hard work, hard on the body. Hard on the mind." Hama nodded. "How do you relax?"

She picked up a scroll from a shelf over her 'bed' and showed it to him. "To prepare for the day, I empty my mind of anything but my lessons. To relax, I fill it with other things once more." Feh looked the scroll over. On it was an ancient Xianese poem, an epic dating back to (Hama believed) the Golden Age. She was eager to know if it mentioned her home, Atteka, and Jupiter Lighthouse. If it mentioned the Anemos. She was extremely curious about the Anemos, wanted to know about the wonders they performed. Feh took it from her and he began to scan the contents.

"Ah, from long, long ago. When Xian was protected by the gods, still."

"What gods?" Hama asked, curious.

"The gods of Earth and Water. They protected us and lived in each man and woman." He looked through it. "This is a strange scroll to pick, Hama. The one with the Ki warrior, the warrior of the sky."

"Of the sky?" Her interest was growing by the second. Was this warrior…

Feh nodded, looking through it, beyond the part she'd read to. "Yes…but much is missing. I do not remember the story. You will have to read it yourself, I am afraid," he said with a knowing smile. Hama took it back and only just managed to restrain herself from reading it at the expense of hospitality.

"So…" she scrambled for another topic, one that would prove engaging enough to distract her from the wonderful scroll, "what is a 'warrior of Ki?'"

"One who uses Ki to fight." Infuriating bastard.

"What is Ki, then?" Feh smirked. He'd known that was her real question the first time, she knew it.

"Ki is spiritual energy." Hama frowned.

"I thought that was Chi."

"No. Chi is energy of the body, focused in the hand. Ki is energy of the mind, released onto an object." He paused. "I believe. No-one in Xian has Ki. Master Nyumpa of Fuchin Temple has Ki. He is very wise, I hear."

"Where is Fuchin Temple?"

"Across Mogall Prairie. Beside the waterfall. Will you go there?"

"I believe I might." Feh thought for a moment.

"Do you wish to learn Ki?"

"No. I wish to learn about Ki." He smiled again.

"You only wish to learn, I think." Hama nodded. All in all, he was right. But she had never met another Adept since she'd lost her mother. She was eager to meet another, see what others thought of Psynergy. Few, even in Contigo, had known what it was.

Feh shook his head. "The energy of youth amazes me. When will you go?'

"Next week, I think," Hama replied, thinking. That was when the merchants arrived. She didn't know if Hammet remembered her, and she didn't want to find out.

Feh nodded and looked outside. "It is late. I will go home. …It is strange."

"What is?"

"Whenever the merchants come, you are not there to see him." Feh smiled. "As I said. It is strange. Good night, Hama."

"Good night, Feh. I'll see you at the school." …He was very observant. Either that or she wasn't the only mind-reader in Xian.

* * *

Hama reached Fuchin Temple three days after she'd left Xian, which had been the morning she'd seen Hammet coming. Feh had commented on it again, wondering if he wasn't too old for her. Feh had only narrowly, by virtue of their friendship, avoided going through the day with his arm in a sling. 

There was, indeed, a waterfall. Hama wondered if the monks meditated underneath it. It would be excellent training; Master Goran often regretted that Xian did not have any decent kind of waterfall.

The instant she entered, it became obvious that Fuchin Temple was overcrowded. Orange-robed monks sat, meditating, elbow to elbow. The temple grounds were as noisy as a marketplace. This was where people came to gain wisdom and peace? Hama felt sorry for these monks. Where else could they go?

She asked one who wasn't trying to meditate where Nyumpa was, and he told her, pointing her up a hill to the largest building in the temple grounds. She climbed the hill and entered.

"Hello, Hama," said an old man, thin and bald with a long white beard. "I have been waiting." Hama stared at him. He glowed briefly. "Ah…it is about Ki that you come. Or, as you think, Psynergy? You want to know if they are one?" Hama nodded. Jupiter. Definitely an Adept, and definitely Jupiter. The old man–Nyumpa–nodded.

"It matters not what you call something, Hama. It matters only what it is. Ki, Psynergy, Spiritual Power, all are names. The name is irrelevant to the nature of the object."

"But necessary for identification, necessary for speech and communication." Nyumpa smiled.

"Well said. You are smart, for your years. Perhaps wise, also." The old man looked her directly in the eye. "Your brother will be much like you. He will favor you more than he will your parents."

Hama's mouth fell open. She felt quite unable to close it. "My…"

"Yes. Ivan. The boy in Kalay. …He will come here, one day, and I will tell him and his friends much of what I am telling you. Of wisdom, and of cunning." Hama decided to ignore the improbability of his knowledge.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked him. "Why do you want to teach me of…of wisdom? And cunning?"

"You are curious. A fine quality, one I hope you will keep close to you as you grow older. As to my reasons… They should be obvious." Hama shook her head. "I know the fate of you and your brother, Hama. To help you both is to play my part, however small, in the salvation of world. I would be very upset if it were destroyed, Hama. Where would I live?" He smiled. So did Hama.

"…You know much, Master Nyumpa."

"A benefit of living to be my age. Tell me, Hama. If you wished someone to do something for you, how would you go about getting them to do it?" The old monk was suddenly very serious.

"Ask, I suppose. Politely, but directly."

"Ah, but…"

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passed like this. Nyumpa would ask her how she would do something, get something, accomplish some goal. Hama would answer as best as she could, and the old man would guide her along until she reached the answer he could have given her. Hama realised, half-way through, that that, too, was one of the lessons she was expected to take away. From there on in, she understood his true intent, and was a better pupil. 

She felt that Nyumpa was pleased with her. She did not, however, try to read his thoughts. She did not want to ruin that good impression. Nyumpa seemed to sense this, and grew more jovial and friendly as the day wore on, although it wouldn't have been right to say he relaxed. Eventually, it was time for her to return to bed.

Nyumpa invited her to spend a few days at the temple, to relax. She accepted, although she wondered how relaxing the temple could possibly be. As she turned to leave the building, she stopped and asked a question that had been bothering her.

"Master…you said that, by helping my brother and me, you were playing your part in Weyard's salvation."

"Yes."

"…Don't you…don't you wish you could do more? Contribute more to it?"

Nyumpa nodded, as if he had been expecting the question. "You are young, eager to go out and do. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is wait. You will realise that in time."

"But–"

"Hama. Of course I wish to give more. But I have little more to give. This I have accepted. You should do the same."

"But, I can't just…just watch while gods-know-what happens to my brother–"

"You will have to." He sighed. "Hama, many, many people have a part to play in the salvation of the world. Whether the unremarkable, like the innkeeper who gives the young warriors a room, or the larger, such as the ruler who will provide them with a ship, or the monk who offers them advice for the next part of their journey. The greatest role, and the most dangerous, the most unpleasant at times, will fall to those young warriors. When they are done, they will be grateful to those who aided them. They will receive little in return for their efforts, except for another task to expend those efforts on. Is that the role you desire?"

"It would be worth it, if I could…" Her voice trailed off, but Nyumpa seemed to understand. His voice softened.

"I see. You do not want to worry about him, do not want to spend the coming years wondering. Yet…that is the price you pay.

"You will be safe, as he will not; he will be able to defend himself, as you will not." Nyumpa was silent for a moment. "The fate of the world and everything in it will rest on their shoulders. We must give _what help we can._" He met and held Hama's eyes. She sighed, bid him goodnight, and went off to the guest quarters. They were not half as crowded as the rest of the temple, and Hama found herself with time and space to think… and a lot to think about.

Unable to defend herself… 

_The greatest role…will fall to them…_

Hama was very tired…

What help…we can… 

_Courage…to let him…_

She fell asleep on her bed like that, still dressed, mind still full of questions and worries.

* * *

Hama returned to Xian after a week of the temple. It was nice to get back and have air to breathe again. Feh visited the second night she was back to ask what she'd found. 

"Master Nyumpa is… very knowledgeable," she'd told him, not eager to tell him everything. Feh nodded, and asked a question, one which, from the look on his face, had been bothering him for a while.

"Hama, when I told you of Ki, you mistook it for Chi, or mistook Chi for it. Both, perhaps."

"Yes. I understand the difference now."

"…A year ago, I offered to teach you Chi. I showed you it. You said you already had it. You showed me it. I had thought there was something odd about it. I said nothing because I did not know–"

"Oh!" Hama remembered. "Feh, I'm sorry. I misunderstood you. I thought Chi was your name for Psy…Ki, and that you had a type I did not. I was mistaken. I do not have Chi. I have Ki."

Feh nodded. "This I thought. We misunderstood each other. …Since it turns out you do not have Chi, after all, I will ask again. Would you like to learn it?"

Hama was in at the word 'learn.' Feh knew this. He found it quite amusing.

Hama knew this and did not find it at all amusing. The prospect of learning something, however, drowned out everything else.

* * *

Hama worked for weeks and then for months at learning Chi. Feh was puzzled as to how it was taking her so long. Eventually they decided that it was (probably) because she was too used to focusing her mind and not used enough to focusing her body. 

They kept working. Two and a half months after they began, Hama managed to use Chi. She memorised the feeling, the sensation of the technique, and from there on in, it was easier., and much quicker. It had taken Feh only a fortnight to learn to use chi, and a further three years to master it. It took Hama half that time. Eventually, Feh decided he couldn't teach her Chi anymore, that she was as good as him.

At that point, she was nearly twenty. She continued to learn the fighting arts from Feh, but she began to help him teach his students as well. She worked, in between, at perfecting her Chi, with Feh as a rival instead of a teacher, and she worked in solitude at honing her Psynergy. She did not spend much time on calling wind or lightning; she worked at her powers of perception, at Reveal, at prophecy. She mastered those and went on to practise more. She could close her eyes and be, that instant, in Imil, seeing the snows cover the land in high summer, or in Lalivero, seeing the waves break against the ancient ruins, or…

She spent a lot of time and Psynergy watching Kalay.

* * *

Feh didn't stick his nose into her 'meditation' until autumn that year. Hama noticed the instant he stuck his head in the door. She asked what he wanted. 

"Party," he said. Feh at his most infuriating.

Hama blinked. She hadn't even known the word 'party' was in Feh's vocabulary. "A party for what?" she asked.

"For you. You are of age."

"For the last four years, yes… Do you mean that you come of age at twenty here?" Feh nodded.

"You have lived here three-and-a-half years now. Yet you do not know that." Hama shook her head.

"It never seemed important," she told him, following him outside. He led her to the school as they chatted.

The party was entertaining enough, although it was a surprise to Hama to see half the population of Xian there. They were all enthusiastic in wishing her luck, happiness, prosperity, long life and all those such things people wished each other on birthdays. A few of her closer friends presented her with…well…presents. Goran's was a set of the robes worn by teachers at the school and a promise to teach her with Feh. Feh's was a scroll of ancient Xianese legends; he refused to give it to her until after everyone had left so she wouldn't start reading it there and then and forget there was a party on. (She did not find that funny.) Several others gave her a necklace, a lucky dragon figurine, a painting they'd done. All in all, it was very touching.

She did not remember drinking. From the size of her headache the next morning, she supposed she had. There was no–bloody–way she was going to practise her Psynergy or Chi that day. No–bloody–way she was even _getting up_. Not in a million–

Someone knocked on the door. Hama ignored it.

Someone knocked on the door. Hama ignored it.

Someone knocked on the door. Hama stuffed her head under her pillow.

Someone knocked on the door. Hama ignored it.

Someone knocked on the door. Hama cursed them.

Someone knocked on the door.

Cursing them again, whoever they were, Hama got up and answered the door.

Monks. Great. She'd just cursed monks. If that didn't earn her eternal damnation, she wasn't sure what would. …She wasn't quite sure of anything just then, actually.

"Good morning," she said, hoping they wouldn't be able to tell she was lying-in her humble opinion, it was a very _bad_ morning-and hung over.

They stared at her.

She stared back.

They stared at her some more. Hama got sick of the staring.

"Why…To what do I owe the …pleasure, of this meeting?" It wasn't really much of a pleasure, but maybe extra politeness would get her back into the gods' good books.

"We have just opened a temple. It is called Lama Temple. It is to the west of Xian," one told her.

"Fuchin Temple is too crowded. We needed another temple."

"Now we need a master for the Temple."

Hama eventually saw what they were getting at. They'd even half-named it after her. Either that or they worshipped llamas. She doubted that.

"And you want me to be that master." Best to be sure, that's it, cling to the possibility that this is a pleasure visit…

Nods. Both monks wore hopeful expressions on their faces. Shoot.

"…I'm a little young."

Blinks. Apparently, they didn't care.

"…I'm not really monk material. Aren't all monks men?"

"There is no rule which forbids women from joining."

"They simply don't."

"They do not like our uniforms." Wonder why, Hama thought. Most of the women she knew just _loved_ walking around with bare chests.

"But the master of the temple can wear whatever they like."

They were certainly eager to please. Damnit, she was too tired to deal with this.

"Why me?"

"You are a master of Chi."

"You are very talented."

"Master Nyumpa recommended you."

Damn him. Oh, wait, no, uh…What a kind old man, she meant. Thinking of her. Unfortunately, he was either misguided or senile. Not in a derogatory sense though. In a charming, affectionate sort of way. (She hoped the gods were listening to all this nonsen-uh…truthful and sincere sentiment.) Now how did she get these people to go away?

"…I'm not a monk."

Like they cared. How about saying she was a cannibal and would kill them all in their sleep to feast on their blood. Would that work? …Probably not. Gods, it was like kicking puppies.

Nothing was said for a while. Hama began to feel like throwing up. She suppressed the feeling.

Eventually she just had to say it.

"Look, I know you want me to be the master of this temple. I'm flattered. But I don't think I'd be a very good master." It was true; at that moment, she didn't think she'd be a very good anything.

They stared at her for another second.

"That meant thank you for the kind offer, but no."

They bowed, offered their apologies and left.

Hama went back to sleep. Crazy monks, disturbing people's sleep. Gods forbid she should ever become a crazy, creepy, monk.

* * *

Heheh. I think that one's better than the last one. Longer, definitely. 

Ivan: It sucked. It was too long.

You're only saying that 'cause you're not in it.

Elliott: It would be better if you were less crazy.

If I were less crazy, you wouldn't exist. XP

Elliott: o.O

Hama:…I'm surrounded…read and review…

Yeah, I need reviews! They're as essential to this story as Fig Rolls!

Ivan: Fig Newtons, to you American-people. Which she does not own, incidentally. …Here, Jacob's does.

Jacob's **RUL3Z0R5! **And so do Fig Rolls!That was a disclaimer, BTW. Ivan disclaimed Fig Rolls for me. Isn't he helpful?

Ivan: Heh.

…sometimes…

Ivan: TT

I'll have the next chapter of Guilt up in the next few days, by the way. I'm almost done it. …Yeah. I don't even believe myself. TT… It will be up, though. And then I'll work on the next chapter of this. So, Slán go foill, a chara! (Bye for now, friend. Irish.)

Word count: 3,333. Not counting A/N. I find that interesting for some reason.


	5. 4: Meetings in Xian

A/N are at the end of the chapter.

* * *

**Chapter IV:**

**Meetings in Xian**

Ivan threw clothes, food, and anything else he thought he might need into his bag with ardent enthusiasm. He was going to Xian, then to Tolbi! Master Hammet was taking him! He looked over the bag and figured that something that full couldn't be missing anything absolutely vital. Pulling on his coat and shoes, he dashed out the door of his room, skidding on the polished wood of the hallway when he remembered his bag and turned around to scoop it up off the floor. Pausing only to hang it on his shoulders, he ran out of the palace, leaving a wake of innocent, startled passers-by behind him

* * *

Hammet barely managed to get out of the way himself as Ivan threw his bag into the wagon, clambered up into the cloth-covered structure himself, and sat in the shadowed interior of the vehicle, twitching a foot excitedly. Hammet shook his head. He hadn't expected quite this much enthusiasm from the boy, he'd just thought it would be a good idea to get him out of Kalay, get him used to traveling before he had to traipse all over the world. Xian wasn't that big of a town; he hoped Ivan wouldn't be disappointed by it. Ivan, however, seemed to think it was heaven, the way he was twitching all over, a rare sign of excitement in him. Had Maeve let him have sugar? He hoped –_fervently_– that she hadn't. Ivan didn't get hyper easily, but he didn't want any catalysts in the boy's system today. 

"You don't mind riding in the back, do you? It's going to be a long ride, and you will be more comfortable in here. There are blankets in that box, and pillows, if you get tired. The water and food are in that bag." Ivan shook his head, his messy blond hair flying in all directions.

"No, I don't mind. How long will it be to get there?"

"Two or three days, depending on the weather."

"Do they really fight without any weapons and eat with sticks?" Oh great. Here came the questions. Hammet, Layana, and everyone else in the palace was inundated with them daily. At least the fact that the boy asked ten questions a day–one for every year of his life–meant that he wasn't reading their minds to get the answers. He wondered if being a Jupiter Adept was what made him so curious, or if he would have been curious anyway. The 'curious, studious, stay-indoors-with-books' stereotype fitted him, anyway, although most seemed to sense there was more to him than that. Ivan was smaller than average for a boy of ten, with chin-length dirty-blond hair and amethyst-colored eyes. Purple was, strangely, his favorite color, one of many things he liked that were odd, to one degree or another. At a low degree of oddness was his affinity for animal companionship over human company to the point of unsociability, although Hammet knew it may well have been the other way round. Ivan wasn't the most popular person in Kalay, unless he had agreed to be the target in all those games of 'human pinata.'

At the other end of the oddness scale was the boy's liking for storms, especially those with lightning and thunder. Layana had gone into his room to comfort him one particularly stormy night, certain he'd be terrified, and she'd found him halfway out his window, complaining –to a cat!– that the palace guard wouldn't let him outside. Oddness of that sort bordered on creepy. No, not bordered. It invaded creepy. It invaded it with standards of war and giant siege engines.

But now he was in 'I don't know this so it _must_ be interesting' mode, asking question after question after question after _question_ about Xian. Did they really speak a different language? Did Hammet speak it, or did they speak Common too? Did Hammet think the villagers would teach him (Ivan) their language? How hot was the Lamakan, really? Were there really monks near Xian that worshipped llamas? What were llamas? Would he see one? Would he see a silkworm? Could he learn their fighting style in the school? How did their eating-sticks work? Would he have to use them or did they have forks and spoons in Xian? Did they really let you drink soup out of the bowl there? You can't eat soup with sticks, after all. Did they–

Hammet took his seat on the horse drawing the wagon as Bunza rode up on his own horse, a skewbald –dun and white– mare called Patch. Bunza wasn't very comfortable around Ivan, and he was also taking the easy way out of all the questions. The endless questions, about sticks, and silkworms, and llamas. _Llamas._ Why did the boy care about a bunch of llamas? He was going to kill the monk that named that temple.

Hammet nodded to Bunza, and Bunza nodded back. "All ready, Hammet. Boy in?" Hammet nodded, and nudged his horse, a strawberry roan mare named Ana, with his heels.

"Walk, now," he whispered. Ana's ears flicked back for a moment; she'd heard him. She pulled against the harness experimentally and, with a satisfied snort, began walking down the trail, ears pricked and nostrils flared for any sign of danger in the area. Hammet had once wondered why horses were always so on-edge, until he'd wondered it out loud in front of Ivan. Talking to animals was another thing that bordered on creepy. Not the talking part, the getting answers part. It was just not…well, Ivan wasn't normal himself, so Hammet couldn't fault him. He was still asking question after question, and Hammet was beginning to block them out. Ivan was used to that by now, anyway. Hammet was sure Ivan understood that Hammet didn't know most of the answers to the questions he asked (and he didn't care about over half of those answers either), Ivan just liked to ask them and think about the answers himself. So he was going to do that, until he got bored of asking questions and not getting answers. Which would happen in about an hour.

Presently, although after a longer stretch of time than Hammet had believed it would, Ivan did indeed shut up. Things were peaceful for about, oh, ten minutes. The sun was high overhead, with no clouds in sight, there was a fresh breeze stopping him from becoming too hot, the surrounding area was peaceful and quiet… The breeze was getting a bit strong, admittedly, it was going right down the back of his neck…

A small bottle hit him on the head, having rocketed out of the back of the caravan. Hammet whirled around in his seat and confronted his passenger. The entire back of the caravan was messy; everything that wasn't stocked with heavy goods like water or metal had shifted position drastically. There was a small, circular, irregular depression in the wood in front of Ivan, as if the wood had been gouged out by something. Ivan himself was staring, wide-eyed, at Hammet, wearing the expression that means someone is trying to decide which option is more incriminating: saying it wasn't them (always a dead giveaway) or staying silent when alone in the midst of obvious wrongdoing. Hammet glared at him, trying to make sense of the situation, before remembering what the boy's sister had said about controlling whirlwinds. He turned back to the horse and sighed, rubbing his sore head.

It was going to be the longest trip to Xian he'd ever made in his life.

* * *

Ivan woke up on the third morning of their trip surrounded by huge cliffs, a welcome change from the Lamakan's stifling heat. They towered above him (as did most other things, admittedly, but that was entirely beside the point), grey and brown and green, and, here and there, purple; Ivan had never seen something as big and impressive in his life. It was a fabulous start to the Trip To Xian… but he also had a bad feeling in his stomach whenever he looked up at them. A bad feeling like his stomach was full of squirmy bugs, and his head began to hurt, too. 

Maybe he was hungry. Or sick. He disappeared into the wagon, trying very hard not to look at the cliffs. Their presence outside still scared him deep down, and he shivered until they came out of the pass through the mountains. They were in Xian an hour after that.

It was as wonderful as Ivan had imagined; it wasn't Kalay. Kalay was very nice and all, but one got sick of it after six consecutive years in it, so far as he remembered. He was pretty sure he'd been in it before that, but he couldn't remember any further back than being three. Xian, now…Xian was a wonder. There was a river running through it, and the town seemed almost to have been constructed around the river, twisting and bending with it, delicate-looking wood bridges connecting its banks in places. To one side, verdant and lush, the mulberry orchard exuded a sense of deep contentment. A young man in a white shirt and trousers practiced kicks against a tree log on a stump; two more in similar clothes, a man and a woman, sparred in hand-to-hand combat beside a large, single-storey building. Hammet dismounted and came to stand beside Ivan.

"You like it?" he asked, seeming to stifle a yawn. Ivan nodded furiously. He loved it. It was the most wonderful place he'd ever seen.

Hammet smiled. "Good. You have the rest of the day to yourself; I will be in the inn, sleeping. I won't do anything until tomorrow, and I'd appreciate help then for a while. Go explore if you like," he told Ivan, although he hardly needed telling. He rattled off a 'yes, master', barely listening. He was going to go and explore, indeed! Only, he couldn't decide what to explore first. He decided on the river. Maybe it would help him calm his thoughts.

He arrived there, accidentally knocking into a girl his own age as he went by. She said several things in her own language that Ivan gathered from her thoughts she wasn't supposed to know, much less say. She had spilled her water, because he'd bumped into her, and he got more for her; she took the large pot and took it back to her home, carrying it–bizarrely–on her head. Ivan pondered on that (he imagined it would give anyone a terrible headache) and went to sit by the waterfall. He saw a flash of purple when he looked up at the large building, the fighting school, he supposed. When he looked closer, it had vanished completely. He decided it wasn't important, and went to look at an odd pool near the river, with a rock-formed waterfall (it looked man-made) and red and white fish swimming in it. The water noises around him did a lot to calm him down.

His next look was the mulberry garden. This was where the silkworms of Xian grew and spun their thread. He saw a few of the tiny, worm-like caterpillars, and didn't think they were much to look at. Then again, neither was he. He tried to hold a conversation with three, but all proved recalcitrant in their silence towards him. He _knew_ they heard him, but the only thoughts he got from them were 'when will this strange human go away' and 'it's blocking my light'; he received nothing that was directed at him. Strange creatures, they didn't even seem to know how valued they were by humans. All they thought of was light, eating, and spinning cocoons. Ivan left the orchard baffled.

He went to the fighting school, poking his head into it to see the fighters at work. He caught another flash of purple out of the corner of his eye, and as he whirled around, a door closed (doors here slid!) very quickly. He frowned and went to open it, but a man stepped in front of him; it was the same one that he'd seen sparring with the woman when he'd looked earlier.

"Hello," the man said. "You are new. I have not seen you before. Where have you come from?"

"Kalay, Mister…" Ivan paused, reading his mind as casually as he could. "Feh." Feh blinked once, as if he knew what Ivan had done.

"Yes… Did Lord Hammet tell you my name?" Ivan nodded rapidly. Why not? Better than being called crazy. "I haven't seen you before… Are you new to his group? Are you his son?" Ivan flinched; many people thought that. And as much as he wished it were otherwise, he didn't have any parents, only Hammet and Layana. It didn't usually bother him, if he didn't think about it too much. Less people cared what he did, for one thing, but… there were times… when he wondered if his family were somewhere. When he wondered why they weren't with him.

"No. I'm his servant… one of them, sir. I came with him, and I have the day off while he recovers from the trip. My name is Ivan." Feh's eyebrows rose imperceptibly and he looked Ivan over wordlessly, and nodded. He motioned to the large, mat-covered room to Ivan's left.

"Well, Ivan, this is the Xianese Academy of the Martial Arts. The fighting arts. Here, we teach agility, flexibility, and the use of kicks and punches. We learn to fight without weapons from an early age, many of us."

"How young?"

"Younger than you." Ivan was surprised.

"That… is a good time to learn to fight?" Feh nodded.

"It is a good time to learn anything. Let me show you some simple punches and kicks." Feh did so for nearly an hour, allowing Ivan to try them himself, before the boy began to be sore and tired. He made his excuses to Feh and left the school, massaging his arms and resolving to spend the rest of the day in his bed. On the way back, he bumped into some men in orange robes. All of them apologized to each other, and they went off towards the school. Ivan watched them for a moment before returning to the room in the inn that he was sharing with Hammet and flopping down on the bed, limp and stiff at the same time.

* * *

The closet was hot. 

The closet was stuffy.

The closet was damp.

The closet was cramped.

Hama wanted out of the closet. She hissed through the frame, trying to catch Feh's attention.

"Feh. Feh! Is he still there?"

"Who? Ivan? The boy left here half an hour ago." She could hear the suppressed laughter in his voice, and she saw it on his face when he opened the door. "I thought you were listening." She glared at him as she stepped out of the closet.

"And I had assumed you–my friend!– would tell me when I could come out of that tiny, dark, miserable–" Feh pointed behind her. She looked around.

Monks were the spawn of the devil.

"Master Hama–" They had taken to calling her that, had they? She was a master, but not the way they wanted, and they had seemed to take the title as encouragement. For the fiftieth time (or it felt like it) she explained to them that no, she did not want to come to their temple and lead them. Yes, she saw that they had shirts on now. She still didn't want to. They bowed respectfully and left.

"How many times must I say that?" she asked, exasperation in her voice. Feh chuckled.

"They are determined. You must see that. They will ask until you say yes," he explained.

"Why do you think this is so funny?" Hama asked, repressing a desire to punch his face in.

"There is no reason that I know of. It simply is funny." He paused, and his next question held no trace of amusement. "Hama, why were you so afraid that he would see you?" Hama looked at him, her anger gone.

"…I explained, Feh. He can't–"

Feh shook his head. "I would not ask if you had already told me. He would not recognize you even if he remembered you, and it is impossible that he would. So why would you hide?" Hama was silent. She didn't like to tell Feh what she could do with her Psynergy. She had never read his mind, except when she identified him at her door, but she still did not want to cast suspicion onto their friendship. …Lying to him on the subject was a very good way to do that, though. Unfortunately, so was telling the truth, and telling him that she didn't want her brother reading her mind would indicate that she could read minds as well. Feh was a lot of things, but stupid definitely wasn't one of them.

And then there was the other reason. She didn't want Ivan to know she was so near. She'd have to tell him, eventually, and he was going to want to know why she'd never said anything before. She didn't want him to be on familiar terms with her. Partly because that would make it harder to admit that she hadn't let him know she was his family… the only family he had anymore… and partly because she didn't trust herself not to break and tell him outright.

If she couldn't keep quiet around him, it was best just not to be near him.

* * *

Ivan woke up the next morning at dawn. He dashed outside, looked at the orchard again, and spent about half an hour eating breakfast by the waterfall before he went back to the inn to help Hammet. He spent the morning unloading and unpacking good and supplies from the wagon, ate lunch, and had the rest of the day to himself. He wandered around the town again, taking in everything about the new place as quickly as he could, wondering how long they would be there and determined not to waste a moment. 

He rushed through the town, barely looking where he was going. As a result, he bumped into someone, nearly knocking them over. The person he'd collided with dropped the jug she'd been carrying, fumbled to catch it, and eventually regained a hold of it, although all the water had fallen out again. She glared at Ivan.

"Ah! You made me drop my water! You should watch where you run!" she yelled, treading the line between mad and rude.

"Ah, I'm sorry. I meant to…I mean I didn't mean to. Here, I'll get some more for you…" He took the jug and refilled it in the stream, offering it to her when he was done. "If you like, I'll carry it for you," he offered. She smirked.

"That is generous of you. But you are smaller than me, little boy. Let your elders do the work." Ivan fumed inwardly, letting nothing show on his face as he refused to give her the jug.

"No, that's alright. …You're a very small teenager, then, if you're my elder," he told her.

"…How old are you then, little boy?"

"I'm ten this year. You?" She was silent and he guessed the answer wasn't ten.

"…In my tenth year. I am sorry. Yet you are so…"

"Small. I know. I'm used to hearing it, so don't worry. Where's your house?" She pointed out a small bungalow next to a restaurant.

"I live there. Thank you." He carried the water over, although not on his head, and gave it back to her outside the back door of the house. She placed it inside, next to another pot, which seemed to contain milk. "What is your name? I am Mirielle."

"I'm Ivan. It's nice to meet you. Although," he went on, seeing her drenched attire, "not so nice for you, I think." She looked down and shrugged.

"I am going to the school now. I would have changed anyway. Do you want to come and see?" Ivan nodded. The last day in that place had been hard, but he wouldn't mind seeing more of the people there and how they worked. She went inside and changed her clothes while Ivan waited.

She returned and led him back to the school. He looked around; nobody seemed to be doing much of anything. There was a large crowd in the school, gathered around the practice arena. Mirielle frowned.

"It's her," she said by way of explanation. "She disturbs me."

"Who?" The girl shook her head.

"I should not speak badly of her. She is Master Feh's friend and a master herself. But I feel uncomfortable around her. I hope she is not teaching today." Ivan stared at her, confused, and headed for the front of the crowd to get a better look. Most of the watchers moved out of his way without seeming to notice him. One commented that since anyone could see right over his head without knowing he was there, he didn't know why anyone would object to him being in front. Ivan ignored that piece of advice.

Eventually, after much prodding and 'pardon's, he could see the arena clearly. The man he'd met yesterday was sparring with the same woman he'd sparred with the previous day, a tall woman with purple hair and eyes and a master's sash around her practice clothes. They were very good, which was probably why all the students wanted to watch them sparring, to pick up secrets. Both were grinning as they fought, suggesting a strong friendship. Both were also sweating, and their punches seemed tired and clumsy. They'd been fighting for a while.

Mirielle joined him at the front. "Do not do that. …Can you feel it from her? She is odd." Ivan watched the woman carefully.

There was something about her, but it did not make him uneasy or uncomfortable. It was strange, like dèja vu. He told Mirielle this and she stared at him as if he were insane.

"I cannot believe that you do not see she is odd." She watched them for another while. "They are very good though. The best in Xian at martial arts and Chi."

Ivan looked away from the two fighters to look at Mirielle, a quizzical expression on his face. "Chi? What's that?"

"Chi is the body's power focused in the hand. It is a great power. I try to learn it. They will not teach me. They say I must wait." Ivan nodded.

"Maybe they have too many students just now, and they need to wait until later to get you in. Or maybe they want you to practice your other techniques before you start on Chi."

"Maybe they simply do not want me to know it. Hmm?" She looked up at the two fighters, surprise on her face. "They are looking at us," she said. Ivan turned back to them. Both seemed surprised to see the two there; the woman looked as if it were a particularly jarring surprise. Mirielle whispered, "You see, she does not like me either," but it was Ivan she was looking at.

Ivan stared back for a moment before he realized he was being rude and looked away hurriedly. Still, she looked bizarrely familiar… "Sorry," he said, trying to break the tension in the air; most of the assembled crowd was looking at him now, wondering what he'd done or said. "I was just watching. You were very good. My name is Ivan, I'm from Kalay." She blinked, startled, and looked at the floor.

"Yes… You must have come with Lord Hammet… It's a pleasure to meet you, then. Thank you for the compliment… I'm sorry, I have something I must do." She bowed swiftly to Feh and left, staring fixedly ahead of her as she did so. Feh watched her go and spoke to Mirielle.

"Have you just arrived?" Mirielle nodded.

"Yes, master. I met this boy in the town, and he said he'd like to see the school."

Feh smiled. "He saw it yesterday. Still, I can show him again. I will teach you also. Come over here." He proceeded to drill Mirielle in kicks and punches she already knew, alongside another girl, Feizhi, a little older than Ivan and with long, lavender hair tied up and out of her face. Ivan watched and thought for a while about the woman, until he admitted to himself that his thoughts were going nowhere. A far more interesting topic was Chi… The power of the body, focused into the hand… Wasn't his power all about focusing? But Mirielle had said that Chi had to be learned, and he couldn't remember ever learning to use his powers. He'd always had them.

Wait… Mirielle had only said _she_ wanted to learn Chi… maybe some people were born knowing it? Or with an innate talent? He didn't know, and he didn't think it would be tactful or kind to mention it in front of Feh. He made an excuse to the others and left the school, asking the locals for the address of Feh's sparring partner. He found it quickly and knocked on the door.

* * *

Hama lay on her 'bed', staring blankly at the ceiling. She should have been meditating, or reading, or doing something, instead of letting her thoughts chase themselves in circles and knots endlessly. But… 

Ah, what had she expected? If wasn't as if she could have expected him to recognize her, or remember anything of their hometown… Still, hearing him say 'I'm from Kalay' had hurt. She had a brother…and yet she still had no-one.

There was a knock on her door, and he called out. "Ma'am? Er…Master? I have a question…" Hama sighed and went to the door. The lamps were lit, she couldn't very well pretend she wasn't here.

"Hello," she said, opening the door, "you're the boy from Kalay, aren't you? Ivan?" _I've known your name for ten years, you're not from Kalay, you're my brother but I can't say so, will you leave me alone until I can? _Yes, that would make him think she was sane.

"Yes, that's me," he replied, slightly shaken, from the sound of his voice. "I wanted to ask about… about the school and what they teach."

She recited them as if it were a lesson and she a pupil. "We teach the fighting arts using the body as a weapon, unarmed defense against attack, agility training, and the arts of Chi." She took a breath. "Was that what you wanted to know?" He shook his head and she resisted an urge to pat his hair down where it stuck up in the back.

"No…uhm… What, exactly, is Chi?" Her expression softened markedly. So that was it; he'd made the same mistake she had. She clenched a fist, focused, and opened it again; on her palm sat a transparent globe of glowing white light.

"This is Chi. I had to study for months to learn to do this, and that was when I was the best pupil in the school. By mastering Chi, you become a teacher in the school. It's not taught to children, was that what you were asking?" She tried to keep her voice kind; his disappointment had been obvious from the moment he had seen the sphere.

"…No, but…it's alright. You answered my question very clearly. Thank you, master," he replied, and went back towards the inn. She watched him, or at least his hair, for as long as she could see him, then sighed and went back into her quarters.

What in Jupiter's name was she going to do with this mess?

* * *

Alright…Sorry this has taken so long to get up. Chapter six should be up relatively soon. (Wouldn't take much.) After this, updates will definitely be somewhat…erratic. 

Elliott: First year of Senior Cycle. Studying for a big exam that's required for third level, instead of a wussy exam that's required for nothing. So…

Yeah. Fourth year is when the teachers start working you to death, instead of just incapacitation.

Elliott: In short, she'll be kind of busy.

Yep… T.T I promise monthly updates, though. Promise. I'll aim for fortnightly. More if I get holidays or not much/easy homework. And update frequency will definitely be affected by the fact that my plan suck(zor)ed (royally) and I have abandoned it. So, once again, I have no idea of what's going on. Oh well. And I'm sorry that the first Ivan chapter was so boring; I didn't like that one at all. I've moved the story on a bit (chronologically) so he's older (about nine or ten here) and I can have a bit more fun with him. xP I think this one is a little better.

Ivan: Meep. If something's boring, surely it's the writer's fault, not…the… oh dear… Shutting up…

Yes. Fun. Muahahaha…….Wait till next chapter, Ivan. Remember how I said you weren't done puking?

Ivan: o.O Save me…

**Review Response: Zashlight **Heh. Thanks for reviewing; it was what, an hour after I put the chapter up? As you can see, more Hama. I think I'll try to have them both in every chapter from here on in. Focusing is starting to bore me. The story itself isn't, but I'm taking a new approach to the structure. That's all.

Read and review! I know not too many people are reading this, but I really want to pluralize that word.


	6. 5: Premonitions

**Chapter V**

**Premonitions**

Hammet– and therefore Ivan– stayed in Xian for two more weeks. During that time, Ivan seemed to take a liking to Xian. It was unsurprising: Xian was tranquil, peacful, the villagers were polite and kind. He came to the martial arts school about once every three or four days and watched in near-silence with his new friend, Mirielle. He helped Hammet with his work and managed to give the entire town a good impression of him.

It was the most nerve-wracking fortnight of Hama's life. To his credit, she never saw him read anyone's mind while he was there, although she was still careful to guard her thoughts around him. She spent a great deal of time pretending to be sick in her home or injured from practice. So on the day when she saw Hammet and Ivan leave the town through the Silk Pass, it was one of the biggest reliefs of her life. It didn't last long, though.

* * *

Hama left the school and headed for her home, enjoying not having to look over her shoulder the entire way, a little disappointed that she didn't have to. Whether she'd been able to talk to him or not… it was good to know he was well. 

Thunder crashed overhead, making Hama shiver, oddly enough. Storms usually didn't make her nervous or uneasy. There wasn't anything unusual that she could feel about this one, though; it was a typical storm. Lightning, thunder, rain and wind, none of them bad things, at least, not to Hama. They had comforted her since before she could read or write, possibly since she'd been born. Now though… It was sending a chill down her back.

She went inside and changed for bed. The uneasy feeling in her stomach was building by the moment, although she couldn't put a name to it. It wasn't sickness, although it was like it. It was… like nervousness or worry, an unsettled feeling. She took down a scroll and began to read. For the first time in her life, she didn't absorb the information on the page; she only skimmed the words without knowing what they meant. Eventually she replaced it in its alcove without finishing it. She simply could not concentrate. She lay down to sleep, found herself too distracted again, and had to meditate for twenty minutes before she relaxed enough to fall asleep.

She was woken the next morning by a dream– one of a landslide on Silk Road. When her eyes snapped open and she sat up (a little too swiftly) waves of dull pain, similar to the feel of an overworked muscle after rest, assailed her head. It was the feeling that accompanied the use of Psynergy; she was as accustomed to it as to the feeling of hunger or fatigue. Her headache did not bother her; her dream did.

Covered in cold sweat, she threw her covers off of herself, crossing the room and dressing– not bothering to remove her nightclothes first– in the space of about ten seconds, before racing out the door, startling several villagers. After a few moments of running madly for the gates, she realised the picture she made and rushed back inside, dressing more thoroughly this time. Her shoes half-on, she paused. …If she went to them in this much haste, she would have a few questions to answer, questions she was not equipped to answer. …What was more, her rushing there could be the thing that delayed them, kept them in the pass, cost them time…and their lives. If she were caught in the pass, she might not survive, and that would render all of her training and research useless and deprive her brother of an ally, when he and his future companions would need every one they could get.

Focusing her mind with some difficulty, she reached out for Ivan, trying to see where he was, what would happen to him, what had happened to him. She found nothing, only a handful of conflicting, scattered images and a vague sense of his presence to the west of Xian. She rubbed her temples and got a drink of water, trying to refresh herself, thinking she was merely tired, and tried again. Still she saw nothing. All she could percieve was a vauge sense of danger, and an equally vague sense of his presence. She sighed and lay back down on the bed, forcing herself to remain where she was.

This was proving very hard indeed… Just as Nyumpa had said it would.

* * *

It was an uneventful trip, for the first two or three hours. The horse walked, Hammet sat on her and held the reins, Bunza walked beside them and chatted, Ivan dozed in the wagon. It was perfectly and totally uneventful. 

The events started when, halfway through the pass into the Lamakan Desert, Hammet checked on Ivan and Ivan_ wasn't there. _Bunza went back for him. He came back an hour later, his normally friendly face showing signs of extreme displeasure. Hammet suppressed a feeling of nervousness; whatever Ivan had done couldn't be that bad.

The boy had climbed up a tree and refused to come down. Muttering curses under his breath, Hammet turned Ana around and went back for Ivan. He was, indeed, up a tree.

"Ivan. Get down now," Hammet ordered him, seeing a patch of blond hair between the leaves. The boy leaned outward so that the rest of his face could be seen.

"Only if I don't have to go into the pass," he replied. Hammet thought he had heard wrongly. What objection could the boy have to the pass? Yet, Ivan was not the sort of boy who misspoke; he was impressively coherent for his age.

"Why not?" Hammet asked, wondering how long this would take. The boy had a nightmare or some such, or he'd turned out claustrophobic. Either way, he was going through that pass; the only other way was around the eastern edge of Angara, through Kolima. That was too far to go on a whim.

Ivan frowned, looking at his feet. "I don't know… but I don't want to go in. It makes me feel sick, almost. Nervous." Bunza shook his head.

"Nonsense," he said. Privately, Hammet agreed, although he was digging through his memory, trying to remember all that he could about the boy's powers. Not that he was going to mention any of that to Bunza; he didn't want to be thought insane.

"Ivan, come down. You're holding us up. It's just the cliffs bothering you, it's that they're so high. You'll get used to it." Ivan shook his head.

"The cliffs aren't the problem… now… but there's something bad in there. I can feel it," he replied. "Master Hammet, I am serious. _This _is serious."

Hammet looked up at the sky. It was getting late, and wild animals liked to lair in the mountains; being caught in there after dark was not a prospect he relished, and it was looking inescapable now. In all fairness, they hadn't had much of a chance of it in the first place. They wouldn't get far at all now, if they started going, and there was obviously something wrong with Ivan. What in the names of the gods did he mean by 'now'? They weren't yet? They had been but it was something else now? Ivan was plain inscrutable sometimes. Hammet turned away from the tree and reasoned with Bunza. He was an easier target, at least, than Ivan at his most recalcitrant, as he seemed to be now.

"It's nearly suppertime anyway, Bunza. If he has something to eat, and gets a good night's sleep, he'll forget all about it. Either that, or we stick him in the wagon while he sleeps and go through the pass then. Agreed?" Bunza nodded, still reluctant.

"It's a lot of trouble just for the boy. …But I'm not going through that pass at night," he added. Hammet nodded.

"In the morning, then," he replied, before calling up to Ivan. "Alright. We'll stay here for the night. Alright?" Ivan nodded slowly and began to descend the tree, dropping from branch to branch and sliding down the last portion of trunk with an almost complete lack of fear. Hammet began making the supper for that night while Ivan set up the camp with Bunza. Bunza gathered extra firewood periodically, and Ivan tended to the horses. They set up camp, then abandoned it for the wagon's covered space when the first drops of rain started to fall as lightning flashed across the sky.

Hammet and Bunza wrapped themselves in spare bedrolls; the one's they'd been using were already wet and had been left in a heap in the corner. Ivan curled up in his own spare and fell asleep quickly, although the two men were kept up for quite a while by the crashing thunder and howling wind.

* * *

Because he'd slept more easily, undisturbed by the storm, Ivan was the first up the next morning. He took some food from the packs in the wagon and ate while he looked around the camp. Both the horses were grazing contentedly, although when he asked, both admitted that they had been scared of the storm the previous night. He assured them everything was fine, yes, it had been a bad storm; even _he'd _been scared. After his breakfast was gone, he walked over to the entrance to the pass. 

All of the fear he'd felt the previous night was gone. He was still wary of the pass, though, unsure of what had scared him so thoroughly. He'd had those sort of feelings before, though, once when he'd been in an old building, once when he'd seen two men arguing with the guards in front of the palace. The building had collapsed a few days after he'd been in it, and the men had turned out to be Lunpan thieves. He hadn't told anyone; he'd thought he'd be laughed at or accused of insanity. He climbed up a ladder leading to the higher roads, used by hikers, the adventurous and those wanting a view of the road; Ivan wanted to see the view. He rested against a stunted tree trying to grow in the sparse soil on the cliff– he was tired.

Now, his feeling had been correct again. The entire pass was blocked off by a solid wall, seven feet taller than Ivan himself, of mud, rock and dirt. It had happened about two or three miles down the road; other walls blocked passage further on, but not quite as solidly. All had been caused by the cliffs collapsing; the huge indentations whence the rock and dirt had fallen were easy to see, as if the cliffs wanted to show them off.

Ivan rubbed his eyes. He was having trouble focusing on anything he thought, he was tired, he had a headache. All of these things happened when he used his power, but he hadn't used it lately. Not since they'd gotten into Xian. He wondered when he'd used it, because some of it was missing and that _only _happened when he used his power.

Suddenly, his thoughts became a lot clearer and more focused, but also more urgent. It was as if his own mind were screaming at itself inside his head. …He was used to this, but not quite so _loudly,_ and he clapped his hands to his ears.

_Get down! Off the cliff! Now!! _Ivan got the sense of the impulse from the feeling of terror and impending danger easily, and scrambled down the cliff as quickly as he could, jumping down half the ladder- he had never been afraid of heights. As he fell, he felt the earth tremble and raced away from the pass as quickly as he could, stopping well outside it. His haste had been unnecessary- it was a further five or so minutes before the cliffs gave way and blocked the pass again, but Ivan still swallowed nervously, knowing how likely his chances of surviving that landslide had been. Turning, he ran back to camp, not wanting to be anywhere near the pass.

* * *

The crash of the landslide rached Hammet and Bunza, waking them and frightening the horses all over again. Hammet looked around, eyes blurry from sleep, for the source of the disturbance. Something was wrong with the scene in front of him, but he couldn't quite see what it was… or maybe what was wrong was something he couldn't see… 

"Hammet, I will bet you anything that boy has something to do with this," Bunza muttered, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, his voice tinged with annoyance.

Ivan. Hammet sat bolt-upright in a second, all thoughts of fatigue gone. He scanned the camp with certain eyes; that had been the thing that was wrong. Ivan was not in the camp. _Again. _The boy just would not stay where he was supposed to be. Hammet got up and trotted over to the horses; there were his footprints. He'd gone off in the direction of the pass. Hammet stared stupidly to the west for a moment and wondered why he would put up such a fuss the previous night, only to disappear in the direction of the pass that morning.It was not right.

He stood up and set off for the pass at a trot until he saw a small, blue-clothed shape topped with blond coming toward him at a dead sprint. Slowing to a halt, Hammet caught Ivan as the boy collided with him, shivering and clutching him tightly. Hammet pulled Ivan away from him– with some effort– for a minute or so.

"What happened? And where were you?" he added, as an afterthought. Ivan pulled free of his hands and looked up, eyes wide with fright.

"In the pass, at the entrance… The cliffs fell. There was a landslide," he amended, after a moment, looking down. Hammet blinked.

"A landslide? How big of a landslide?" Ivan looked at Hammet closely, finally replying.

"As tall as you and Bunza." Hammet frowned. About ten or eleven feet, then, possibly closer to ten; everything looked tall to Ivan. Bunza came up behind them, his voice quiet.

"So, Hammet, if the road's blocked, what are we going to do? We can't get back to Kalay that way." Hammet thought for a moment.

"We'll see. We'll go back to Xian and tell them of the landslide, and we'll ask when the road will be cleared. If it's too long, we'll go the long way. If it's not, we'll wait and pitch in with the cleanup effort."

"Speed things up?" Hammet nodded, adding:

"And offer a little extra recompensation to them. Most of their trouble with this will come from our own hurry." Bunza nodded and Hammet patted Ivan's head. "Come on, you two. Let's eat something, pack up the camp and get back to the town. They'll need to hear about this." Bunza nodded and went to find food from the packs for them. Ivan went over and sat next to the horses. Hammet sat down on a rock, sighing. How did that boy know those things… and how did he manage to keep surprising Hammet? It seemed that every year he came up with a new ability… how many could he possibly have?

* * *

Hama's relief at seeing the three travellers re-enter the town was immense. So was her exasperation at hearing they were going to be staying until the landslides on the road were cleared up. Hiding from them was becoming harder by the day… She went home that night in no mood to socialise. 

Monks were in her house. Those bloody… monks… A slow smile grew on Hama's face. The question was on their tongues, she could practically see it, but she beat them to it.

"Yes, alright. I've had a change of mind. I'll come along with you. Where was your temple again?" she asked them politely, hoping to get out of Xian as quickly as possible.

"It is past Altin, on Silk Road. We cannot get there now. We will go when the road is unblocked."

…She needed some tea. Right. Bloody. NOW.

* * *

Okay! I know that this has taken a while to come up, but this time I have a _good_ excuse. Sorry to everyone reading, and thank you to all my reviewers. Both of them. 

Right, I am REALLY sorry that you've all waited so long for what… 2,500 words? Jeez, that's my daily quota for NaNo. 'Cause I'm behind. But Guilt and RnK took longer to type up than I'd expected, and of course there were tests and then it was NaNo and…

…I'm just lazy. T.T Sorry. Really sorry. I had major writer's block with this one too: I didn't know what to write. I wanted to have the event in, but I didn't really want to write it, do you know what I mean? Heheh…But I just didn't have time in the past week or so when I suddenly wanted to write non-NaNo stuff again (which always comes at about 30,000 words). Between tests, housework, homework, and NaNo I'm surviving on four hours of sleep a night as is. The next chapter should be early February, and should be better, and almost definitely longer. Okay? Will that make up for this…disgrace of an update?

And don't get your hopes up: I did not get my laptop fixed. I'm smuggling a USB drive into the IT room at school during class. Don't you love it when teachers don't give a damn what you do?


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